


you're quite a heartbeat

by worry



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: F/F, background dolokhov/anatole because hello. it's me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 15:10:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8406454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worry/pseuds/worry
Summary: At a closer glance she’s beautiful, hair and lips red like a fire that Hélène would let consume her every inch, a fire that Hélène could live in. “Hello,” she says back, eyes moving over Hélène. Hélène – Hélène feels vulnerable. For once, it is a good feeling.





	

 

I.

 

There’s a woman standing outside of the club – she is inappropriately dressed for the cold, her hands are shaking and her shoulders bare. Hélène walks up to her, tight-lipped. “Hello.”

 

At a closer glance she’s beautiful, hair and lips red like a fire that Hélène would let consume her every inch, a fire that Hélène could live in. “Hello,” she says back, eyes moving over Hélène.

 

Hélène – Hélène feels _vulnerable._

For once, it is a good feeling.

 

“Pierre Bezukhov’s wife,” she says.

 

“Perhaps unfortunately.”

 

The woman laughs. “I haven’t introduced myself yet, have I?”

 

She takes Hélène’s hand and shakes it, formal. Something in Hélène shivers.

 

“Marya Dmitrievna Akhrosimova.”

 

“Hélène,” she replies, and her hand lingers around Marya’s. “Just Hélène.”

 

“Beautiful name.”

 

Hélène shivers again.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Marya bites her lip. “I should be going,” she says. “Quite a long walk home.”

 

“You must be cold.”

 

“I don’t feel the cold,” Marya replies, and turns away. “I hope to see you again, Hélène.”

 

She walks off. Hélène goes back into the club, back to Dolokhov and Anatole, and tries to forget about Marya Dmitrievna Akhrosimova.

 

ii.

 

“You’ve been acting strange,” says Dolokhov. “Ever since we left the club, you’ve been acting strange. What is it?”

 

“Nothing,” she replies. “I’ve been acting the same way I always act. You’re drunk.”

 

“Maybe,” he tells her, “but I’m still correct. Something happened.”

 

“Maybe,” she echoes.

 

iii.

 

It seems like it has been years since Pierre left the house.

 

Hélène is alone, finally, single candle lit in the darkness. She found a book in his drawers and had started reading it the minute after he left for the marketplace – they’re like an escape, she realized long ago. Escapism does not look good on most women, but Hélène has been told that she can pull any look off if she just pulls it all tighter, puts herself up a little bit higher.

 

And then there’s a knock on their door, slow and soft.

 

“Pierre is out,” she calls, nonchalant.

 

“I’ll come back later.”

 

It is a woman’s voice.

 

It is _Marya’s_ voice.

 

Hélène walks to their door. “He’ll be back soon,” she says, and faces Marya, her eyes glowing. Their eyes are both glowing. Hélène does not feel the cold. “You can wait with me if you’d like.”

 

“That would be…”

 

Marya watches her again, her face beautiful but skeptic.

 

“Nice,” she finishes. “That would be nice, yes.”

 

iv.

 

Hélène lights a candle for her; in the dim light, Marya looks even more beautiful.

 

“Tell me, Hélène,” says Marya as she takes a seat at their dining table, “what have you been up to in Pierre’s absence?”

 

“Reading,” she admits.

 

“I never pictured you as a woman who enjoyed reading.”

 

Hélène smiles softly. “I don’t tell many people about it. But you’re special, apparently.”

 

Marya shakes her head. “No, I just caught you at the wrong time.”

 

“Oh,” says Hélène with vulnerability, “there’s never a wrong time for people like you.”

 

Marya’s face sinks, for just a moment, and then her eyes flutter open and shut, lips curling. “You are a married woman.”

 

“In name only,” she replies. “We both have other involvements.”

 

“I see.”

 

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Hélène says suddenly. “I’m sorry.”

 

Marya waves her hand in the air. “No, of course not, no. I have been a friend of Pierre’s for a while, I just don’t want to hurt him.”

 

Hélène bellows with laughter. “You wouldn’t hurt him, trust me. Our relationship is complicated. Neither of us are happy.”

 

“I’m truly sorry.”

 

Marya’s leg brushes against hers. Hélène’s lips part for a moment, and Pierre walks through the door.

 

v.

 

Marya’s house is wide and beautiful. Hélène did not expect this.

 

She’s been walking around Moscow for quite a while. In the window, Hélène sees red hair, and she walks back home.

 

vi.

 

“Are you ever going to tell me who it is?” asks Dolokhov one night as they dine together. Anatole is in the other room, fetching wine.

 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“It can’t be Pierre.”

 

“I’ll say nothing.”

 

He smiles. “You will feel better when you tell me who you’re fluttering about. I see it on you all the time. I know what it’s like.” Dolokhov glances at the doorway, and sighs. “I can help.”

 

Hélène sets her napkin on the table. “I’m not hungry.”

 

“ _Hélène_.”

 

She rolls her eyes, and thinks, for a moment, about the way that Marya’s eyes glowed. “Do you know Marya Dmitrievna?”

 

“I know of her.”

 

“Have you ever met her? She’s enchanting.”

 

“I don’t think I have. But I know you’re aware of my feelings for your brother.” He laughs. “Let’s talk about our failed relationships over a drink soon.”

 

“We’re drinking now.”

 

“Anatole is with us.”

 

Hélène winks at him. “You’re a good friend, Dolokhov.”

 

vii.

 

She meets Marya outside of the club again. This time, the weather is a bit warmer, and Marya is covered by a fur coat.

 

Hélène laughs at the sight of it.

 

“How are you?” she asks. “It’s been a while.”

 

Marya smiles. “I’m well,” she says. “Now that you’re here, even better.”

 

“Would you like to stay with me? I’ve been told I’m a very good dancer. But – but you don’t have to.”

 

“I have to get home,” Marya tells her. “But I’m coming back tomorrow. I hope to see you here again.”

 

“You will,” Hélène says, and she watches Marya’s skirt move in the air as she walks away.

 

viii.

 

Marya is wonderful at dancing, and she moves against Hélène like lost sunshine. It’s beautiful. It’s _beautiful._

They meet at the club every day after this, dancing and drinking and slowly, _slowly_ moving closer every time; Marya sitting next to Hélène at the table, their legs touching, their hands folded in their laps.

 

Hélène never wants it to end.

 

ix.

 

It ends.

 

Marya takes Hélène back to her house because Hélène has never been to visit, and because Anatole and Dolokhov are having a very important discussion, alone in their house. Hélène smiles at the thought of it.

 

Dolokhov deserves this happiness. Her brother deserves this happiness.

 

“Would you like something to drink?” asks Marya.

 

“No, thank you.”

 

Marya sits down next to her, sighs. “I take it that you know exactly what your brother is up to.”

 

“I have an idea.”

 

“When do you think you’ll be expected home?”

 

Hélène’s eyes widen. “You want to get rid of me, don’t you?”

 

“No,” Marya says quickly. “The opposite.”

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

Marya’s eyebrows raise slightly.

 

“Oh.”

 

Marya’s hand finds Hélène’s.

 

When they kiss—

 

When they kiss, Hélène stops shivering. Marya’s hands are on her, this is everything that Hélène has ever wanted, and it’s _ethereal._

It’s ethereal.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> CAN YOU BELIEVE THEY KISSED BECAUSE I STILL CAN'T
> 
> Anyways please tell me what you think thanks for reading! <3


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